


The Sincerest Form of Flattery

by Sheeana



Category: White Collar
Genre: 5 Times, Established Relationship, Multi, Role Reversal, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2017-02-13
Packaged: 2018-09-24 04:13:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9700421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sheeana/pseuds/Sheeana
Summary: Five times Peter and Neal switched places.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [failsafe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/failsafe/gifts).



**Neal Caffrey, FBI Agent**

Neal was _fairly_ certain that he wasn't supposed to make a move on the target without Peter's explicit say-so.

He wouldn't say he was absolutely certain, or even certain beyond a reasonable doubt. Peter had never _specifically_ forbade him from walking into this particular warehouse without back-up. No one had ever said he couldn't stop this specific suspect - one Aleksandr Petrov - from melting down the evidence and leaving them without anything to show for their efforts. If they wanted him to do something, they really needed to be clearer about it.

Getting into the warehouse was child's play. A quick furtive glance over his shoulder, a few deft twists of the lockpick, and he was slipping inside, no one the wiser. He kept to the shadows at the edge of a row of skids, creeping forward until he found what he was looking for: a small pile of gold replica coins destined for a makeshift furnace heating up somewhere in the back.

"Got you," he whispered. He picked up a coin and examined it. After twirling it around in his fingers a few times and biting down on the edge of it, he concluded that it was in fact a forgery and started to pocket it as evidence, grateful to Peter for his general lack of specificity.

But then there was a gun pointed at his face, and he wondered not for the first time if his entire sense of judgment wasn't just slightly misaligned.

"Tell me why I shouldn't just shoot you right here," said Petrov.

"You could do that, sure," Neal replied. He played at being calm, tossing the coin up into the air and then catching it neatly. "But we have you on tape admitting to forging these coins." A lie. What they had on tape wouldn't hold up in court. "Forgery's gonna get you... what, ten years? Five if you cut a deal? Shooting a federal agent, on the other hand..."

"If they ever find the body."

"Right. You could go ahead and take that risk. Or you could play it safe and surrender now. My team's waiting outside, and between you and me? Theirs is bigger than yours," he mock-whispered, nodding sympathetically at the gun in Petrov's hand. "But hey," he added, "What do I know? I just work here."

It was a good thing he'd lifted a pair of handcuffs from Peter's glove box a few weeks ago. Otherwise he wouldn't have been able to cuff Petrov when he marched him out of the warehouse and right into the waiting hands of the actual FBI agents who had finally decided to show up. Having no handcuffs in his possession would probably have been a surefire way to lose any of the credibility he'd managed to con his way into.

With what Neal could only assume was a gargantuan effort, Peter managed to rein in his anger for the rest of the work day. He could tell something was simmering when they got in the elevator at six, though, and by the time they were getting into Peter's car, he was already wincing pre-emptively.

"What were you thinking?" Peter snapped, as soon as they were out of earshot of any stray coworkers. "Impersonating a federal agent is a crime, Neal! Not to mention the fact that you could have been killed-"

"Relax, Peter, I had it under control."

"You never have anything under control. You just make it look like you have things under control so that when everything blows up in your face, you can point the finger anywhere but at yourself."

For the rest of the drive, an icy silence hung in the air between them. They were heading to Peter's place, Neal noticed, not June's. Peter was apparently hovering at that level of anger where he could barely stand to look at Neal, but Neal was still invited over for dinner. It was a familiar place to be. He managed to put himself there about twice a week, on average.

"Where did you even get handcuffs?" Peter asked suddenly, as he made the turn onto his own street.

"Where do you think?"

"Sometimes, Neal, I swear..."

"Look, I'm sorry. It won't happen again. Pinky promise." He held out his hand.

Peter just sighed. He pulled into his driveway and parked the car, but rather than getting out, he just slumped against his seat. Neal wasn't sure if he was still furious, or just exhausted. Or both.

"Peter?"

" _What_?"

"I got the handcuffs back," he said. He made an exaggerated show of waggling his eyebrows suggestively before he dropped the handcuffs from inside his sleeve, dangling them from his fingers.

"I wouldn't get your hopes up tonight, Neal."

"I was thinking I might surrender myself to your wife," he continued, as if Peter hadn't said anything, "Since impersonating a federal agent is a crime, like you said. I wouldn't want to walk away without facing justice."

Peter's hands tightened on the steering wheel, then slowly relaxed. He turned his head against the headrest and glanced over at Neal. "... Go on."

-

**Peter Burke, Art Thief**

Neal stopped dead when he walked into the Burkes' home one Friday evening and found that one glaring difference in the living room immediately jumped out at him. 

"That's mine," he said, very pointedly.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Peter didn't even look up from the paperwork he was doing at the table.

"That's my painting." Neal walked over to stand in front of it. He didn't need a trained eye to know that it was the real deal, not a copy. He didn't need it because _he'd painted it_. "In your house. On the wall of your living room."

"Is it? I don't see a signature."

"That's funny, because I remember signing it. You know, I think I see it, right there. NC. As it happens, my initials spell out NC. Did you know that? For 'Neal Caffrey'?"

"Like I said. I don't know what you're talking about."

Neal spread his hands out, placating. "Hey, I'm just curious about how it got there. I'm guessing it didn't walk over here on its own. Did June give it to you?"

Peter finally looked up from his paperwork. "Let's just say I acquired that painting... personally."

"... You planned and executed a heist." He'd probably never sounded so ridiculously satisfied about anything in his life, and he'd spent some time drugged out of his mind and obliviously bragging about his favorite schemes while Peter tried without success to shut him up. He spun around on the balls of his feet, his whole face lighting up like a kid in a candy store. "Elizabeth, your husband planned and executed a heist."

"Did he," Elizabeth said, trying and failing to hide a smirk. She'd dropped what she was doing so she could approach him. "That doesn't sound like him. I wonder if he had help?"

Neal's eyes lit up even more, even as he let Elizabeth back him up against the wall. "You _both_ planned and executed a heist."

"Got your attention?" Elizabeth asked, her palm flat against his shirt now. Peter came up to his other side and took Neal's shoulder into his hand, then slowly worked his way down until his fingers were wrapped around his Neal's wrist.

"How'd you do it? One of you must have lured me out. Was it the night I took you out for sushi and Peter stayed home?"

"That would be telling," Peter replied gravely. He pressed a kiss to Neal's knuckles.

It turned out that _nothing_ got Neal's attention like the commission of a non-violent criminal offense. They didn't actually make it to the bedroom. Peter and Elizabeth had managed to get all of his clothes off before they even reached the stairs.

Peter admitted to nothing, but a week later there was a second, far more sensual painting hanging in their bedroom, having appeared there one night as if by magic. The corner of it was marked very prominently with 'NC'.

-

**Neal Caffrey, Husband of Elizabeth Burke**

"I thought Peter was making a roast?" Elizabeth walked into the kitchen after she came home from work, only to find that it was occupied by someone other than the husband she'd been expecting. His car hadn't been in the driveway, either.

"Peter had to finish up some paperwork. He said he'll be here as soon as he can," Neal replied, without turning away from the counter. "In the meantime, you get me instead."

"You're making me a roast?"

"I'm making you pasta." He leaned to the side so she could see the peppers he was chopping.

"Wow, honey," she said dryly, "You're such a _thoughtful_ husband."

"I really am. Aren't you glad you married me?"

"Man of my dreams." She put down her purse, hung up her jacket, and then rejoined him in the kitchen, resting against her elbow on the counter so she could watch while he added the peppers to a sauce simmering on the stove.

"How was your day, Mrs. Burke?" he asked. With the decisiveness of someone who had spent a lot of time cooking in their kitchen, he opened a cupboard and started rummaging through their spices.

"A little busy. What about yours, Mr. Burke?"

"My boss is running me ragged. Keeps making me work on boring cases and never lets me do anything fun."

"Since 'fun' means 'illegal' or 'dangerous' to you, you should tell him that your wife approves." Her arms had come up around his waist now and she was leaning against him, her cheek nuzzling against his back.

"I'll tell him. Taste that," he said, holding up a spoon so she could lick the sauce.

"Mmm. What is that, garlic?"

"And shallots. More salt?"

"No, it's perfect the way it is. You'd better not be covering for him, Neal."

He turned around - without displacing himself in her arms - and placed his hand over his heart. "Elizabeth, I'm offended. I would never lie to you."

"I'm just saying, sometimes Peter has a bit of a forgetful streak. I should know. I married him."

"How can you be complaining? He made sure you still get dinner, _and_ you get to spend an evening with me. Win-win. Everyone's happy."

"Oh, I'm not complaining," Elizabeth said, "... About you, anyway."

"Go easy on the guy."

"Maybe I will. Or maybe I'll borrow those handcuffs from you again."

"Ouch."

"I'll be gentle."

-

**Peter Burke, Con Artist**

"I'll tell you what you're going to do," Peter snarled, as he seized the mobster by his shoulder and shoved him hard against the wall, completely heedless as to whether he broke any bones, "You're going to take the money and walk away, or I'm going to be having a conversation with our mutual employer. We'll see what he has to say about your little side trade. Or did you think he wouldn't find out about you striking out on your own?"

He had no idea if his bluff was paying off. All he knew was that if he pulled his firearm, a dozen armed men would descend on him at once, and if Neal was still alive, he wouldn't be for much longer.

He should have waited for back-up. It was what he'd told Neal to do. Not that Neal had listened, or he wouldn't be standing here with a briefcase filled with counterfeit money cobbled together from seized evidence and making desperate threats on the off chance that they'd dragged Neal back to their base of operations before killing him.

"Hey, man, we'll take the money. This was all a big misunderstanding, yeah? No need to tell anyone anything," said the guy he was pinning against the wall. "But what about the fed we got tied up in there, he's still alive-"

"I'll take care of him," Peter said coldly.

It was pure agony, waiting for them to leave. Pretending Neal meant nothing to him, that he wasn't his best friend and partner in every sense of the word. His partner who might currently be dying alone while Peter stood there and waited.

His heart was pounding so fast in his chest, adrenaline rushing through him, that he risked moving in a little sooner than he should have. He pulled his gun the moment he was inside the warehouse in case he wasn't alone. It was already empty except for Neal, who was sitting in a wooden chair in the center of the empty space with his hands tied behind his back and a blindfold over his eyes. He was in a sorry state, bruised and bloody and _breathing_ so hard his chest was visibly rising and falling. The relief was instantaneous and palpable.

"Neal," he said urgently, hurrying to pull off the blindfold and kneel down in front of him. He holstered his weapon, his fear overcoming his training. "Neal, come on, buddy, look at me. That's right. That's it. Open your eyes, Caffrey."

Neal blinked a few times, adjusting to the light, and swallowed visibly. "Peter? S'that you?"

"It's me." Peter worked quickly to get the ropes around his wrists undone. He tried to rub some circulation into them while Neal came back to awareness. "What the hell happened in here?"

"They were getting away. So... I distracted them. It turns out they don't like feds very much. I think they broke my anklet." There was a glazed-over look to Neal's eyes, but he was alert enough to lift them to Peter's and smile wryly. He was slurring his words a bit. "Figured you'd be able to follow me here anyway if I left a trail of breadcrumbs. I was right, wasn't I? Here you are. You always find me. Wherever I go, you find me." He tapped Peter's chest with two of his fingers. " _You_ find me."

"... Damn it, Neal. Every time I leave you alone for five minutes-" He bit back the rest of what he wanted to say. Not now. "Just- sit tight. The ambulance is on its way. You're going to be just fine."

-

**Neal Caffrey, Honest Man**

Neal opened his eyes to the dim, sterile light of a hospital room. The first thing he noticed - aside from the ugly color of the walls - was Peter, sitting in a chair beside his bed. He felt an immediate rush of warmth and gratitude. His latest foray into law enforcement could have ended a lot worse for both of them.

"Don't sit up. I called Elizabeth a couple hours ago. She's on her way," Peter said lowly, as if he was afraid he might shatter something if he spoke any louder. Neal appreciated it; his head was throbbing in time to one of the softly-beeping monitors at his bedside.

"Every part of my body hurts right now," he admitted. His voice was hoarse, and it wasn't from disuse.

"They beat you up pretty good, but you'll make it. They kept you overnight for observation."

Gingerly, Neal felt out a bump on the back of his head. He winced and let his hand drop back down. "The last thing I remember... you were swearing at me about something. I assume you didn't get into a firefight, or we wouldn't be sitting here right now. What did you do?"

"Pretended to be a mob enforcer. It turns out, they're afraid of their boss a lot more than the feds."

Neal snorted weakly. "Without Mozzie to talk you through it? I'll believe it when I see it."

"Saved your life, this is the thanks I get."

" _Thanks._ "

"You're welcome. Now don't do it again."

"You're blaming _me_ for this? In case you hadn't noticed, they tied me up. I'm innocent here."

"Because you're never-" Peter stopped, tightened his hand into a fist and held it up for a moment like he was about to make a gesture. Then he released his fingers and let it fall to the bed. "You're never careful. You walk right into danger like it doesn't even exist. You're not bulletproof, Neal. One of these days, it's going to get you arrested - or killed."

"We got the bad guy, though, right? You guys followed them on the bug I planted?"

"It's not a joke, Neal!"

Neal finally relented, because he could see Peter was getting upset and he couldn't see another way out. "Okay, Peter." He would have held up his hands, but he was exhausted and aching, so a lackluster verbal surrender would have to do for now.

"That's it? 'Okay'?"

"Okay, I'll be more careful next time."

"Why do I feel like you're just saying whatever I want to hear?"

"I don't know, Peter," Neal said wearily - giving up, giving in. Peter had a way of bringing him to it eventually. "Because I want you to believe in me? Because, contrary to what you seem to think about me, I actually do care about the work we do?"

"That's part of the problem, Neal. I don't need you to prove anything. I just need you to be _safe._ Our clearance rate isn't more important than your life."

"He would have gotten away."

"Then you wouldn't be lying in a hospital bed right now."

"And how much more of that money would have been funneled into things that I wouldn't ever have touched? How many more people would have gotten hurt if we hadn't stopped them today?"

With a long-suffering sigh, Peter lifted his hand and let it fall onto Neal's head. He left it there for a moment, just resting over Neal's hair. He'd never looked quite as worn and pale as he did right now.

"It's okay, Peter," Neal said softly.

"I'm fine."

"You're a really bad liar."

"Tell that to the guy who gave you that black eye."

"... Peter?"

"Hm?"

"Thanks."

"Anytime, Neal," said Peter. He gave Neal's shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Anytime."

 

-

( **++ Peter Burke, Pickpocket**

"You know, Peter, the idea is to slide your fingers into my pocket _without_ me feeling them?"

"Oh, trust me. I know.")


End file.
